


In Darkness

by kimtristh



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimtristh/pseuds/kimtristh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In darkness the monsters thrive, gnawing at his ankles, fingers curling around his wrist...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> For the [kink meme](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=1408055#cmt1408055). Possibly a bit creepy, but written with utmost adoration for this prompt. More fills would be LOVE.

_He drowns them. The blood seeping out of their wounds colouring red the last thing they’ll ever see. His face. My face..._

Soaked sheets stick to his body, throbbing pain behind the eyelids, blurred vision from darkness and sleep. Surgically precise fingers threading through damp curls, dark chocolate against golden skin. Lips against an ear, voice gently shushing in a way it normally wouldn’t “Shhhh... it’s alright, Will, it’s okay.”

_He curls his hand around their neck, not pressing, just feeling. He knows they are powerless._

In darkness the monsters thrive, gnawing at his ankles, fingers curling around his wrist. Like Hannibal’s fingers are now, grasping gently, pulling him in. 

Will has learnt not to fight it, he can now tell apart the warm body against him from the nightmares that refuse to leave him even when he’s awake. He doesn’t need to fight it. In the beginning it was difficult, he’d struggle and squirm, try to push the older man away with sleep-weakened limbs, now he has learnt to do the opposite, he has learnt to find footing in the older man, let himself be pulled into his arms, let him make it all go away.

_He enjoys watching them struggle, he enjoys watching them seek the fight they cannot win..._

Most of the times he can’t tell if he has slept, woken up in a soaked mess, or if he has gone delirious from not sleeping – he wonders if Hannibal can, if he awaits these moments, if he keeps himself awake through them to see him, to catch him before the monsters do. The monster. His monster.

Gentle lips rest against his temple, whispering softly, a vulnerable edge that he never expected to hear in the good doctor’s voice ever present when it comes to this. “I got you, Will. You are safe.” He lets himself close his eyes again, if just for a minute.

Will focuses on him. The weight of the older man anchors him, arm moving to rest his hand on his shoulder, pressing down across his chest. Will sees him behind his eyelids, the always prim doctor in nothing but a t-shirt, pyjama bottoms made of cotton instead of silk when he stays at Will’s place. When they have a case and he helps him with this. He opens his eyes then, looks up at Hannibal and manages to steal a smile.

_He watches desperation flood their eyes, he does not look away, they can’t look away._

His skin is clammy, soaked in cold sweat and covered in goosebumps, a complete contrast to the older man’s flesh, warm and velvety, as he rubs his palms over Will’s arms, bringing his dead limbs back to life. 

“My dear Will. You are not him.” the older man says, staring right into Will’s eyes and that is too much, he can’t hold his gaze any longer, eyelids falling shut, earning a gentle kiss. The older man’s body envelopes him, hands now resting either side of his face, thumb pressing on his chin.

He can feel the older man’s presence everywhere, his weight on his lower half, his touch as it rubs his arms and chest, his breath as it ghosts across his face. It makes him impossibly aware of the here and now. Here and now in his room, in his bed, next to Hannibal Lecter. Not the murderer and the murdered in some bathtub in Mississippi. 

He plants kisses on his cheeks, all over his unruly beard, across his forehead, on the corner of his lips, he whispers relentlessly “My dear Will, you are good. I know you. You are not like them, my dear Will.” 

_He tells them one last thing, but they can’t understand it, it will be the last thing they will ever hear._

He drowns in the older man’s touch, returns the kisses, always gentle, lips only, softly rubbing against each other, hands twisting in his hair, the older man’s weight on him, their limbs entwined for a few long passionate minutes, until Hannibal pulls away. 

Will doesn’t have to open his eyes again to know, he instinctively turns around, feeling the older man enveloping his body, arms tight around his waist, breath ghosting the back of his neck. He nestles into his touch, vulnerable like he never allows himself to be. 

Fingers run through his curls again, soothing his scalp gently, lovingly, breath teasing the shell of his ear, Hannibal’s voice even softer than before, desperate in its honesty “You are pure, my dear Will. I can see right through you. I can see you. You are good.”

“I love you,” words leave his lips almost of their own accord, much louder than the older man’s voice, much rawer, much clumsier. Naked and lacking decoration, simplistic and almost pale against the glittering riddles from the older man. 

And yet, the doctor replies. “And I love you, my dear Will, my Will. Mine. Will. Mine.” 

_This is my design._


End file.
